


Blue Hearts & Blackjack

by foxysquid



Series: How Many Roads [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Korean War, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, Amputation, Depression, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, New York, PTSD, Past Relationship(s), Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Politics, Prisoner of War, Rating May Change, Romance, Veterans, Vietnam War, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:29:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2154018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxysquid/pseuds/foxysquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1972.  Levi's life with Erwin is disrupted when they receive the news that Erwin's best friend and lover, believed dead, was captured alive and will be coming home.</p><p>The year is 1966. Levi, an ex-Marine haunted by his past, meets Erwin Smith in the VA Hospital where he works--yet another soldier torn up by the war.  Yet another pain in his ass.  But this soldier will become more important to him than he can guess.</p><p>The companion piece to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1288399">Homecoming</a>, from Levi's point of view.  It isn't necessary to read Homecoming first, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finally gave in to the temptation to tell Levi's story in this AU.
> 
> The title comes from two named U.S. missions: Operation Bluehearts (Korean War), which was named but never carried out, and Operation Blackjack (Vietnam War). These names were chosen largely for symbolic reasons, not because they're going to figure in the plot.

The air stank of iodine and sulfur and sweat. He smelled shit and fear. That was what Hell would have smelled like, if there was a Hell. He was lying flat on his back, looking up, not at anything he could identify as a "ceiling", but at an indistinct, shifting darkness above him. Shapes were moving around him, voices murmuring nearby, but as he was gazing straight up, he couldn't see who they were or what they were doing. He couldn't make out a single word that they were saying, their indistinct speech a low, constant droning. Somewhere, someone screamed. And screamed again.

He was aware of a terrible pain, all over his body, but sharpest in his leg. His leg was burning. It had been set on fire. It was going to consume him. Who had done this to him? Bastards. He had to put out the fire. He had to fight the bastards. He'd kill them. He'd make them sorry they'd done this to him. He struggled to sit up, but he couldn't move. Although he couldn't see anything above him, a tremendous weight was pressing on him, holding down his entire body. A tremendous weight was crushing him, crushing him to death.

"Levi--Levi, wake up."

Levi opened his eyes to find a hand pressing down on his chest--not with any force, lightly resting there. Levi glared at the hand, then looked up into its owner's blue eyes, which were fixed on him with some concern.

"You were shifting in your sleep," Erwin explained. He didn't mention that this had happened before and would happen again. By "shifting", he probably meant "thrashing", but he was too politic to say so. Both of them had nightmares. They didn't ask each other about them. Erwin had been known to volunteer information about what he'd been dreaming, but Levi never did. He wasn't about to complain about _dreams_.

"Good. It's time I got up." He glanced at the clock. It was nearly eight, later than he usually slept.

He tried to sit up, but as in the dream, he met resistance, although, it was only a slight pressure from Erwin's hand. "Stay in bed a little longer. It's your day off."

Levi grunted. "I have things to do." Idleness made his skin itch. He didn't like days off. He'd done his best to avoid them altogether before Erwin had moved in. He pushed at Erwin's hand, and Erwin drew it back, but then leaned in to kiss him.

"I have things to do, too," he said, pressing his lips to Levi's cheek, and then his mouth. "We could do them together." Erwin's hand returned, but this time it stroked Levi's chest instead of pushing. Levi was very aware of his own bare skin and the warmth of Erwin's skin against it. Erwin's tongue slid into his mouth. Levi was wearing nothing but pajama pants, and it was a matter of a single, simple motion of Erwin's hand for it to slide down over Levi's body, hook a finger under the waistband of his pants, and pull, exposing Levi's hips and the thin line of dark hair that ran from just beneath his navel downwards.

There were things about days off that weren't so bad, but Levi wasn't in the mood to make things so easy for Erwin. He put both hands on Erwin's chest and pushed. Not hard. Enough to make that stubborn hand withdraw again. "Shower first."

"I'd be glad to shower with you, if you'll accompany me."

Erwin knew what he meant but was being a smartass, as usual. "No. _You_ take a shower." His insistence on Erwin cleaning himself first wasn't a given, but he didn't want to let him get away with too much. If he did that--well, Erwin would have gotten away with too much, and Levi couldn't have that. If he let that go on, eventually Erwin would take over everything.

Erwin acquiesced to his request, unashamed by his nakedness as he rose and let the covers fall away. What a showoff. It was cold as fuck. Any normal person would have put something on once they'd left the blankets behind. Levi frowned as he watched Erwin move across the floor, granting him a generous view of the muscles of his long back, his ass, and his thickly muscled thighs. His broad shoulders, too, were nice to look at, and the severe scarring across them, and the little that remained of his right arm, couldn't mar the overall picture. Levi had seen too many injuries and had dealt with their aftermath too often to romanticize them, but the scars and the asymmetry were a part of Erwin's body. Levi was being deliberately tempted, but he wouldn't give in. He folded his arms over his chest, refusing to react. Annoyingly, he was aware that if Erwin had asked him to come shower with him a second time, he would have gone. Erwin didn't ask.

Not until Erwin had shut the bathroom door did Levi get up. His first act was to get a sweater from the closet, because he was a normal person who hated being cold and didn't walk around naked in the winter. Then he went into the kitchen to make some tea. He knew Erwin wouldn't rush in the bathroom. If he took a one minute shower in his hurry to get back, Levi would give him shit about it and say he had to start over. He wouldn't mean it, but once that happened, there was a fifty percent chance that Erwin would obligingly and amusedly take another shower, and a fifty percent chance that he would take another shower and pull Levi in with him. Levi saw no problem with either scenario.

Levi filled the kettle and put it on the stove. With a twist of his wrist he made the gas of the burner flare up into flame. Then he filled the percolator with water and ground some coffee, and soon enough the percolator was making its usual liquid hissing and sighing noises. Levi didn't dislike coffee, but he preferred tea, and the reverse was true of Erwin, so when Levi had the time, he made both.

The phone rang. It was in the kitchen, attached to the wall near the kitchen table, so Levi didn't have to leave the stove unattended. "Levi speaking." He was brisk but polite. It could have been someone from work. It could have been anyone.

There was a silence on the line.

"Hello?" Levi asked.

"Hello. Is Erwin there?" It was a woman's voice, not one he recognized. That meant nothing. Erwin had too many friends and associates for him to keep track of. He was always going to meetings, talking to people, making connections; things that didn't come easily to Levi happened naturally for Erwin. Not that Levi wanted to go to a lot of meetings and talk to a lot of pains in the ass.

"He'll be back in a minute." Levi saw no reason to tell the woman what Erwin was doing. It was unnecessary information.

"I see. Could you tell him to call me back as soon as he gets in? It's urgent."

It must have been urgent, because she hadn't told him who she was, and he guessed from the tone of her voice that she was about to hang up. He asked quickly, "Who am I supposed to tell him to call?"

"Oh, of course. It's Sarah Zacharius. Thank you!"

She ended the call, and he hung up the phone. _Zacharius_. He knew the name. How could he not? He'd heard the stories about Erwin's childhood, his adolescence, his Army days--his whole life before Levi had met him. Most of them were stories about Zacharius--not Sarah, but Mike, her son. Erwin's best friend. More than that. It was like one of those stupid, sappy romance movies--two kids growing up together and falling in love. Or it would have been like a romance movie if the children hadn't both been boys and not eligible to have love stories about them shown in theaters. Mike had died in the war. Levi knew all about that, too. He'd met Erwin shortly after it had happened. Erwin had been different, then--hollow, cold, and furious. And a fucking terrible patient.

Levi didn't know as much about Sarah Zacharius as he did about her son, but she had been like a second mother to Erwin, and they still spoke often. Usually it was Erwin who called Sarah. Levi had never answered the phone to find her on the other end. They'd never talked. As close as Sarah and Erwin were, she didn't know what Levi was to Erwin.

Whenever someone from Erwin's old life called, Levi felt distant, like he was being pushed away. No matter how many stories Erwin told him, he'd never be a part of that time. He had no connection to the things that had meant so much to Erwin, that had raised him and shaped him. He had no place in Erwin's past. He didn't want one. He didn't want to serve in the goddamn Army or get lost in the cornfields of Iowa, but the jungles of Vietnam and the cornfields of Iowa might rise up and swallow Erwin again. He'd vanish. The past would take him away. Levi suspected he wasn't as important as everything that had come before. 

Who did Sarah Zacharius think he was? A friend? A friend who happened to be over at eight in the morning. No, a roommate. That would have made more sense. That was probably what Erwin had told her. _I share an apartment with a roommate_. Technically, it was true, but technically didn't count in this case. Did anyone believe that lie anymore? There must have been some men remaining in New York who had ordinary roommates, roommates they didn't sleep with, but Erwin wasn't one of them.

The coffee and tea were ready by the time Erwin emerged from the shower and dried himself off. He'd had the decency to wrap a towel around his waist. Levi was standing at the counter, pouring the tea, and Erwin's arm slid around him, pulling him close. Levi kept pouring the tea, then set the teapot down. Erwin's breath was hot on his ear. Erwin smelled like soap and his shampoo, like mint. He smelled good. Levi knew what he wanted. He was tempted to seize Erwin and bend him over the counter, but he'd gotten that phone call. It was urgent. It had sounded urgent. Not because Sarah had been upset, as she'd controlled her tone well, but there'd been an edge to her voice, an excitement, a confusion. She'd sounded like someone who needed to talk to Erwin. So he let Erwin nuzzle his ear and passed on the message. "You got a call."

"From who?"

"Sarah Zacharius."

"Sarah? Why would she be calling now?"

It was an hour earlier in Iowa, so it was a strange time to call your dead son's best friend. Levi shrugged. He was just the messenger. "She said it was urgent."

The playfulness in Erwin's manner faded, and he stepped away, turning toward the phone. "I'll have to call her, then."

Levi wasn't a part of this, so he didn't stay. Erwin could have his privacy during his important phone call. He took his tea with him, back to the bedroom. It wasn't that he didn't care what was happening, but it wasn't his business, and he wasn't going to stand there listening in. If Erwin needed him, he could call for him or come to get him. He set his tea down on the bedside table, the cup sitting carefully inside its saucer. It was purely white and without a single crack. He could still appreciate the luxury of this. He hadn't had anything so nice when he'd been a kid, nothing but chipped, cracked cups, most of them with no handles or broken ones. Once a cup was cracked, you could never truly get it clean. The dirt lurked in the crack, deep down. Where he'd lived, everything had been like that. No matter how you tried to scrub it away, the filth remained. Even if you pushed it down, later, it wormed its way out again.

Levi wasn't eavesdropping, but Erwin had raised his voice, and the apartment wasn't large enough and its walls not thick enough to keep the noise from his ears. "How is that possible? I don't--"

Erwin's voice lowered again, and Levi asked himself which thing Erwin thought was impossible had happened. Was it Erwin's mother? If something happened to Erwin's mother, it would be Mrs. Zacharius who called. Levi picked up his teacup very carefully, holding it by the rim. The handle was an ornament, as far as he was concerned. It was too weak. It couldn't be trusted. He breathed in the aroma of the tea, letting it linger in his nose, savoring it. He took a sip. He had steeped it perfectly. There was no sugar in it and no milk, just the tea itself. It was strong without being bitter. Levi didn't like praying, but if he had had someone to pray to, he would have prayed that whatever it was that had happened wouldn't bring back Erwin's pain and rage. Erwin, as Levi had eventually come to know him, was a controlled, calm person, which made the state he had been in when Levi had met him all the more striking a memory. Not that Erwin's state of mind had been surprising. People had every reason to get mad when their lives were blown apart.

Levi didn't pray, so he narrowed his lips and waited, with the taste of tea in his mouth.

Although he couldn't make out any more words, he could hear the low tones of Erwin talking in the kitchen, and he was aware of it when he hung up the phone. After that, there was silence. No sound of Erwin returning to the bedroom. Levi put down his teacup, steeling himself. If it was bad, he'd have to act. He had no idea what he'd do. He had to find out what the problem was, first.

Erwin was sitting at the table, leaning forward, with his hand over his face. He was still, but not entirely so. His shoulders shook, faintly. As Levi crossed the floor, Erwin gave no sign that he was aware of his approaching presence, or aware of anything. Levi came to stand at his side. When Erwin didn't stir, Levi placed a hand on his back, and Erwin looked up. Whatever his expression had been, hidden behind his fingers, it was calm when he turned to face Levi. His eyes were shining, but there were no tears on his face. He didn't say anything at first. He stared at Levi as if he'd never seen him before. There was no grief. There was something. He'd changed. There was a new tension in his body, an agitation he was keeping in check.

"What is it?" Levi asked. 

"Mike's alive," said Erwin.

"Alive?" Levi asked automatically, uncomprehendingly. That was a word he'd never learned to associate with Mike, whose death had cut Erwin so deeply, leaving a wound deeper and more dangerous than the one that had taken his arm. The idea that Mike might not be dead was one that he'd never considered. Even Erwin, who could have clung to the fact that his body hadn't been found, had accepted the fact of his death.

"He wasn't killed. He was taken prisoner. The North Vietnamese are set to release US POWs as part of a treaty agreement. They've told the families first."

"They're sure it's him?" Being wrong about this would be an egregious fuckup, even for the Army, but egregious fuckups were made every day.

Erwin answered immediately. He must have asked Mike's mother the same question. It was difficult to believe. "Absolutely sure. Mike's very ill, but he was able to give his name and service number. They'll be bringing them back in a few months."

How was Levi supposed to react? What should he feel? Who expected to find out that a person you'd always thought of as dead had been alive all along? Not well, but alive. That almost mythical character from Erwin's old stories. He was flesh and blood, someone who might walk into a room, who could be met and spoken to: a messy combination of flesh and feeling, like any living person. Levi's first thought, as a therapist, was that the guy must be in terrible shape. He'd been imprisoned for what--six, seven years? Who knew what they'd done to him. Who was going to treat him? Levi had mixed feelings about Army doctors. There were good ones and unbelievably shitty ones. He also didn't want some incompetent shithead treating Erwin's friend once he got back to Cornhole, Iowa.

His second thought was a more assholish one. If Mike was back from the dead, then what about him? If the person Erwin had grown up with was around, the person he'd been so caught up in and so devastated about losing, what would Erwin want with Levi? He was a later addition. A lesser addition. "Good," he said, pushing down his resentment. There was nothing else he could say. "About time they got their shit in order and got something useful done." He meant the Army, the government. Emotional conversations were better avoided, but Erwin would appreciate any insults leveled at the government. He was predictable that way.

Erwin smiled at him. It wasn't a big smile, not some stupid grin. It was a brief quirk of his lips, but as subtle as it was, Levi had seldom seen him so happy. It was his eyes that had changed. There was a warmth in them that hadn't been there before the phone call--had it?

This was ridiculous. It was ridiculous to feel jealous over some poor bastard who'd been stuck in a Vietnamese prison for more than half a decade. "I hope your friend's the smart one. Someone needs to pound some sense into your head."

"No," said Erwin. "You're the smart one." He rose to his feet, his arm coming around Levi again as he pulled him close.

Levi gritted his teeth, then pushed a disdainful puff of air between his lips, one of his standard reactions to such displays of affection. He didn't push Erwin away when Erwin tightened his grasp, then leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

"I have to go, Levi."

Every muscle in Levi's body tensed. Go? For one moment, he thought Erwin was going away now, was going to go right back to Iowa and wait for his friend, move back in with his mother and leave everything here behind. For Mike. This person he loved, who'd been dead, who Levi didn't know. Wasn't that what you did, for your best friend? You gave up everything for them. You'd do anything for them. Especially after you lost them, when you'd thought you'd never see them again.

"I need to take a walk, clear my head. I have to think this through. It's a lot to take in."

"Right. A walk." If Erwin was going to leave, it wouldn't be an impulse decision. He wasn't like that. He'd consider all the factors, weigh his options. "Don't forget to wear a coat. You're flesh and blood." Erwin was far too dismissive about the cold. Acting like he didn't need human garments, such as scarves and hats. How cold did it get in Iowa? Levi had lived here all his life, except for his time in the Marines, and _he_ wasn't used to the winters here.

"I know that very well, Levi. If I ever had any illusions regarding my invincibility, I lost them long ago." He kissed Levi again, his forehead this time, then his cheek. Levi stood very still, resisting the urge to turn and catch Erwin's mouth with his own. "I'll probably be back in a few hours."

There was nothing odd about it. It was like Erwin to want to be alone with his thoughts. He shouldn't read anything into it. "Yeah. I'll be here."

"Try to relax."

"I'll relax when I'm dead," Levi shot back. "Plenty of time then."

Erwin drew back, gazing down at his face. Sizing him up. What was he thinking? Was he comparing him to Mike? "That isn't the same thing. I'm hoping to spend more time with you before then."

"I'll think about it."

Erwin's hand moved lightly over his face. "You're too generous."

"You gonna wear your arm?" Levi sniffed, ignoring his sarcasm.

"No, it's not necessary today."

Sometimes Erwin left the prosthetic off as a political statement: to show people what happened to soldiers in the war, using that physical symbol of what they'd lost, to make them uncomfortable--but this wasn't one of those times. Levi preferred that he wear it, but Erwin was stubborn, and he didn't insist. Erwin didn't need his help with the prosthetic if he wasn't going to wear it, and he was able to dress himself, but Levi followed him into the bedroom nonetheless, seating himself on the bed. Erwin was no longer in the mood to fuck, but that was fine. Levi had gone more than ten years without fucking before meeting him. He could always wait. He watched Erwin rummage through the closet for clothes, then let his towel fall. He could enjoy the sight without getting hard. He didn't feel much like fucking, either. They didn't talk as Erwin dressed. Erwin was too caught up in his thoughts, and Levi had nothing to say.

"There. Do you like my coat?" Erwin turned in place, modeling it for him, and Levi sighed at his posing. Erwin's right sleeve hung empty at his side. Levi rose. He was used to pinning Erwin's sleeve up for him, so he moved automatically, the pins in his hand without him having to think about it. He carried out the actions expertly, quickly. He knew what he was doing. It was like any other day. Except it wasn't.

Erwin was smiling again. "He's alive," he said, as if he still couldn't believe it. He shook his head.

Levi couldn't not be happy for him. He had to be happy. He'd force himself, if that was what it came to. He didn't smile, but he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Erwin's chest. "He should be." Although he felt another selfish pang of jealousy, heated with resentment and sharpened by worry, he meant it. He shouldn't have died. Why should any of those men have died? Sure, some of them were bastards and assholes, and most of them Levi would have disliked, but that didn't mean he believed they should be dead. They should be alive. Erwin should get to have his friend back. He was going to have him back. He was a lucky man.

"I'll see you soon. All right?" Erwin kissed him again. His mouth, this time. Levi parted his lips for him. He opened himself up. He wouldn't do that for anyone else. 

"Don't hurry back," said Levi, with a harshness he didn't feel. He was joking, but it was better that Erwin was going. Levi could use the time alone, too. He had to bend himself back into shape, to untwist his emotions and reshape them into something more acceptable.

"I'll keep that in mind." Erwin kissed the top of his head again, a gesture that mildly annoyed Levi, as it made him feel young. Erwin was the young one. Not even thirty yet, and Levi was past forty. Damn, he was too old for this. He didn't see Erwin to the door, because Erwin was a grown man who lived here and who could find his own way out.

Without Erwin, the apartment was quiet. He didn't turn on the stereo or the TV. The percolator and kettle were silent, but the air smelled of coffee and tea. He returned to the kitchen and poured out the coffee. It was going to be cold by the time Erwin got back. He watched the dark liquid stream down into the drain. He could make more. He'd been meaning to get one of those new coffee makers for Erwin, but he hadn't gotten around to it yet. _Mr. Coffee._ It was a stupid name. Maybe he wouldn't get one after all. There would be no point, if no one was going to be drinking coffee here.

He had to stop thinking this way. He had to think that it was good. They'd killed one less kid than everyone thought. He had to accept it for what it was.

Levi poured himself another cup of tea. He stared out the narrow kitchen window at the gray city. Erwin was out there. Somewhere, thousands of miles away, those POWs must have been told they were going to be released, or else they were already in an Army hospital. Mike Zacharius was sitting and thinking--what? Probably about the same thing. That he couldn't fucking believe it. Levi tried to imagine meeting him and failed. That wasn't a surprise. He didn't consider himself an imaginative person. It might not ever happen, anyway. Why would Mike want to meet him?

Right. There was no point in imagining anything. He had to face facts. If he was going to be left alone, then he'd be left alone. He'd dealt with it before. He could deal with it again.


	2. Chapter 2

He opened his eyes to an unfamiliar face smiling down at him. "You're alive!" it declared.

At first, he had absolutely no awareness of who the face belonged to, whether they were friend or enemy, whether they were male or female. It was a face. It was speaking English. It must have been, or he couldn't have understood it. He didn't know any other languages, outside of a few words here and there. It told him he was alive, so he must have been alive. How else would he have been able to hear it speaking?

"You're alive _again_ , I should say, because it's quite possible you were medically dead," the voice added. "The equipment here isn't... Well, we work with what we have, don't we? Soldiers and surgeons alike."

He blinked, his vision slowly clearing, along with his mind. He opened his mouth. He felt the urge to speak, so he did. "Fuck," he murmured. It was the logical thing to say in his situation.

"That's good," said the face hovering over him. "You can talk. What's your name?"

"Levi."

"Exactly right, Levi, that's it. That's what they told me. What year is it?"

"Nineteen--fifty-two?"

"You're good at this. You've done this before, I can tell. That's correct." The person nodded, and his brain finally decided that she was probably female. A dark-haired woman wearing glasses. Along with the speaker, he became more aware of the world around him. The place stank like blood and shit, and it was cold. There was a draft coming in from somewhere, or everywhere. He shivered. He was also in incredible pain. His mind, asshole that it was, allowed him to become all-too-fully cognizant of that fact. His leg was throbbing with agony, each throb sending waves of heat surging up over the rest of his body.

"Where--" said Levi.

"Where are you? You are in Korea! No, that can't be what you meant. You seem lucid enough to remember that. You are in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital." 

"No, fuck." He knew that. He could tell by the smell and the shitty company. That wasn't what he'd wanted to know, but he was too delirious and too tired to formulate his question. There was something missing, something he wanted to find.

"Your leg? It's quite intact. I was worried we would have to amputate, but no, you should be able to keep it, barring another nasty infection." Her cheery smile didn't match up with anything else here. She had no right to be smiling at a time like this. What a weirdo.

The pain had told him that his leg was still there. He'd heard of phantom pains, but what he was feeling currently was more like the pain of his leg being set on fire. Yet it couldn't have been on fire, or she would be trying to put it out. He assumed. You never could tell with military medics. "You--"

"Doctor Zoë Hange, at your service." This introduction confused him, because he hadn't heard of any women doctors out here. So, a man? But that was a woman's name. God, he didn't know. Did it matter? He didn't care about that right now; he cared about the fire in his leg that wouldn't go out, because it wasn't really there. Whatever was burning was under his skin, swimming through his bloodstream. Infection, she'd said.

The doctor leaned in closer. The smile faded. The eyes behind the glasses were suddenly serious. "Don't worry." That voice had gone from loud to quiet, from cheerful to confidential. "Your secret's safe with me."

***

"What are you babbling about?" Levi sat up and groaned. He did _not_ want to have to deal with Zoë the first thing in the morning. He liked to start the day with peace and quiet and a cup of tea. He hated to be disturbed, and he hated company. He lived alone for a reason. Several reasons, but that was one of them.

"Your secret," said Zoë. "Your dark and terrible secret."

"I don't have any secrets. Except that I was stupid enough to give you the key to my apartment." He glared at her. "Which was supposed to be for emergencies only."

"That's not the secret I was talking about. Look at this." She held up a piece of dark fabric and waved it in his face. He frowned at it until it stopped shaking and he could identify it as a dress. "I'm sure it looks beautiful on you."

"That's not mine," Levi snapped. "It's Isabel's. Put it down."

"Oh, I'm disappointed. I thought you were doing something fun. Something new." She lowered the dress and sighed dramatically.

"Shut up, Shitglasses."

"I know that's your special pet name for me, so I'm not offended. You're grumpy in the mornings." She shook her head sadly. "Behavior not becoming a medical professional. It's not only bedside manner, but in-bed manner that matters."

He decided not to comment on the matter of his manner in bed. That wasn't any of her business. "I don't like to be woken up by dumbasses jumping on my bed and shrieking about secrets."

"Well, it's not every day I learn something new and exciting about my best friend."

Levi groaned. "I told you, it's my sister's. She leaves things here because she's messy." He generally tried to clean up after her, or, better, to force her to clean up after herself, but as she was the human version of a whirlwind, occasionally something was left out of place. He had tried to instill a love of cleaning in her, but she'd reached the age when she'd begun to rebel. Thirty. A terrible age.

"Well, it wouldn't be bad, you know. There's absolutely no reason that some items of clothing are coded as masculine and some feminine. It's entirely arbitrary and varies over time and from region to region."

"And this time and the region of this apartment only allow me to wear trousers," said Levi.

"That's a very narrow way of thinking."

"Good." Levi got out of bed, glad he was fully covered, in his pajama pants and shirt. As it was, she looked his current clothing over thoughtfully, but must have decided not to say anything, because there was no interruption as he asked, "Why are you here?"

"I thought we could have breakfast together. You've been gloomy lately, and you could use some cheering up."

"I'm not gloomy. This is my personality."

"Hm." She leaned in and narrowed her eyes at him, examining him thoughtfully, as if conducting a medical examination. In a very hammy Broadway play. "Then let's say you've been gloomy even for you. Which is a serious matter." She straightened and brightened. "Come on! Put on the dress, and we'll go to the diner."

Levi didn't put on the dress. He wore slacks, a shirt, and a jacket, no matter how arbitrary it was that that was what he chose to wear every day. He included a coat and hat, as it was winter. Winter, and cold as balls. As always, he brought his cane with him. He didn't care that it drew attention, but he was observant, so he noticed. Even the people who politely tried not to notice it often tried a little too hard, carefully fixing their gazes anywhere that wasn't the cane or his leg as he limped across the floor. Their waitress was one of these, her smile frozen on her face. He knew what he looked like: a short man with a limp. "I told you," he said, seated across from Zoë in the booth their waitress had led them to, "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

She was talking like he was on his deathbed. "Thanks."

"Have you been sleeping all right? The dark circles under your eyes look darker than usual."

"You're great at this cheering people up thing."

"I know, I'm an expert. Have some tea. It'll make you feel better."

Tasteless diner tea had yet to do anything to improve his life, but he ordered it nonetheless, scowling at it when it arrived.

"Now, you can tell me what's wrong. We're all alone. There's no one to hear." The waitress had brought their drinks before retreating until the food was ready. Zoë had ordered coffee and was adding creamer to it with great care. Levi didn't point out that they had been alone before coming here, in his apartment--alone, and not in public. He didn't see how he was supposed to feel more comfortable expressing himself in a restaurant.

Not that he had anything he wanted to express. "There's nothing wrong. I'm tired. I hate winter. I hate the holidays. This year's the same as every year. There's nothing to tell."

"I, for one, think there's something very wrong with that. You're in a rut, obviously. You could use a change. Change is a part of life, and you'll stagnate if you remain still for too long. This is my scientific opinion." Her coffee was as pale as she had been able to make it. This wasn't her habit. There was nothing predictable about how she took her coffee, and nothing predictable about what drink she ordered. Unlike Levi, who was always the same with his unadorned tea. So, Zoë knew about tea, at least where beverages were concerned. He watched the water in his cup darken to an unimpressive murky brown. 

"I know exactly what you need, Levi."

Levi looked up. He made absolutely sure that his features remained rigid, that he did nothing to make her believe he wanted to hear what she had to say. He knew that there was no way of stopping her, but that was no reason to encourage her.

"You," declared Zoë, "could use a little company, a little fun, maybe some extra warmth on these cold winter nights."

Levi went still, staring at her.

"You," said Zoë, "could use a cat!"

He groaned. That wasn't the worst thing she could have said, thankfully. "Shut up about your cats."

"I'm not talking about my cats, I'm talking about the cats _you_ could have."

"Forget it, I don't want animals shitting in my apartment." Not that he didn't have faith in his ability to clean up after them, but he dealt with enough shit at work. "I don't know what it is about you and cats."

"It isn't cats in particular. I'm interested in the behavior of various species, and cats are among them, and also happen to be suited to living in my apartment. Dogs, for instance, would require a more regular schedule than the one I maintain, and they are not allowed in our apartment building."

He couldn't refute any of that, but he didn't feel like entering into a discussion on the topic. He'd said all he intended to say about it. The answer was _no_ , and it would remain so. Dropping the subject, he sipped at his tea, which was already cooling, temperature rapidly approaching tepid. What was it about the tea here? It was if they had special fast-cooling water.

"It makes me sad to think of it, all that time you have to spend alone without me," said Zoë with a heavy sigh. "You need someone to look after you when I can't be there."

"So I need someone to do absolutely nothing for me? Sounds like a cat would fit the bill."

"I'll let you go on pretending that you don't like my cats, but you can't fool me. Your scorn aside, they're very affectionate creatures, and also, you'd be lost without me."

The waitress came with their food. Levi had ordered toast and fried eggs, sunny side up. One of the yolks was broken, yellow staining the pristine white, and he glared at it so intently that the waitress nervously offered to take it back. He waved her away. He preferred unbroken eggs, but he didn't feel like going through the process of sending it back to the underpaid chef who'd probably break both yolks the second time around. At least one of them was intact. Not bad for the kitchen here. "Don't bother. It'll all be the same when it comes out the other end."

Given this reassurance, she backed away carefully.

"What a charmer," said Zoë admiringly, smiling at him over her pancakes. 

One thing that was annoying about her was that he honestly couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic. She did find odd things charming, so she might have meant it. He was under no illusions as to his way with people. Outside of work, his manner didn't go over too well with the majority of people. Fortunately for him, he didn't socialize much out of work. "So I hear. It's my bedside manner." He didn't care for bedside manner jokes, but she'd started it.

He took another irritated sip of tea. She may have had more degrees than anyone could possibly know what to do with, but she was wrong. He didn't mind spending time alone. He'd never been someone who'd found himself with a need for company. If there was someone he wanted to spend time with, then fine, good. It wasn't as if he couldn't _like_ people--not that he did so often--but he was self-contained, independent. He didn't require companionship. Desiring it was a different, optional, matter. He tolerated Zoë, and he did like her. And her cats. In a way. If she were to go away, he might miss her. But she wasn't necessary. It was better not to become too attached. He would be all right without her, without anyone.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate her attempt to cheer him up, on some level. He had to admire her perseverance. They'd been friends for years. How many years was it? Almost fourteen now. That was a long damn time. They'd met in December, shortly before his birthday. His birthday. Right. He cut into the unbroken yolk and watched the yellow liquid spill out. He hated this time of year. He hated everything about it. That was probably why she was making an extra effort for him. That was nice, but he didn't need her to pawn off a stray cat on him. The last thing he was intending to do was take in a stray. Zoë liked company. She liked noise and affection. Hugs. Laughter. Animals shitting in her apartment. He didn't. People assumed he was suppressing other impulses, but that was his personality, his preference. He liked cleanliness and order and quiet, everything he hadn't had when he was growing up. He'd enjoyed that part of the Marines, too. The order. The regimentation, the freshly mopped floors, and the tight corners on bedsheets.

Yet being in the Marines wasn't really like that. War wasn't like that. They taught you to follow orders, but it wasn't orderly.

The hospital was better: the rules and regulations, the disinfectant. But there, too, humanity was its usual ugly, untamed self. Humans were messy, and they broke. They made mistakes. They ruined any imposed order, even the very order they had worked to build. His job was nothing if not human. A lot of piss and shit and broken rules. He complained about it, but he didn't dislike it. His job was to get the more broken humans back into some semblance of working order, and that meant something. He served a purpose.

Overall, he didn't like people one on one, on an individual level. He didn't want to _talk_ to them or have dinner with them or tell them jokes--or worse, listen to their jokes--but if their legs had been fucked up by shrapnel, he'd help them learn to walk again. That was the level on which he preferred to deal with humanity.

He refused to take in any strays at home, but at work, he had the feeling that he'd already done so. The Physical Therapy Department had been short-staffed for some time. New hires at the hospital tended to either disappear quickly or stay forever. Levi, Eld and Gunther had been senior staff for ages, and they had their assistants and aides, but keeping other therapists around had proved difficult lately. 

He was aware that the fact that the department was headed by three grim, humorless men was not a mark in its favor where new employees were concerned. He'd heard them referred to collectively as "Physical Terrify", which even someone without a sense of humor, such as Levi himself, could tell wasn't a very good joke. It wasn't usual for PT to be headed solely by men who didn't smile, but they got the job done, and many of the fresh soldiers and older veterans responded well to their harsh, yet competent treatment. The patients didn't benefit from being coddled. The idiots in charge had talked to Levi in the past about being more congenial, and less vulgar, but he'd gone on doing what he'd always done, and they'd shut up once they'd realized they were going to have a hard time finding someone to take his place. No one could do so many shit jobs as well as he could. He wasn't arrogant, but that was one of his talents.

The administration had finally deigned to assign the overworked department two more permanent, accredited staff members. It wasn't good enough, but it was something. There was a war on-- _a fucking war_ , and he was short-staffed. It was enough to make him consider murder, but there wasn't any one person whose murder would help him. Get rid of one bureaucrat, and another would rise to take their place.

Of the three senior staff members, Levi was the team leader--in essence, if not in pay grade. He had more than a decade of experience, and he was trained in occupational therapy, as well as prosthetics and orthotics, but he couldn't do everything. He would have, if he could have, but with their work load, he barely had enough time to do the things he absolutely had to do, let alone everyone else's work. He always needed more people, because there was _a war_.

The new therapists seemed--well, they seemed young. The incoming soldiers and staff looked younger every year. They were kids. Kids who'd been sent off to die overseas, and more kids who were trying to patch up the first group. What a mess. He hoped these two new kids would prove useful and stick around, and with that in mind, he'd made a slight effort to be less "terrifying" when dealing with them.

"Sir, I wonder if you could help me with something?"

"Don't call me sir." Levi was standing in the department office, glancing over a chart, when one of the new hires, Oluo, appeared in the doorway, looking hopeful. Levi had noticed that, in addition to being intimidated by him, Oluo had begun to show signs of following around like a puppy, showing up whenever he wasn't wanted. That certainly hadn't been Levi's intention. He didn't think his mild attempt to be less abrasive had crossed the line into anything so drastic as encouraging people to willingly spend more time with him.

Oluo was an exception to the rule of youthfulness. He looked older than his twenty-some years, his face narrow and lined. It was a trait Levi wouldn't have minded having himself. He still had to deal with people treating him like a younger man. He'd always looked younger than he was, but he couldn't remember a time that he hadn't felt old. "Of course, sir. I mean--"

"Levi's fine," said Levi, who didn't care for titles or for going by his last name. "What do you want?"

"I have a new patient, and--"

Levi held out a hand. Oluo stared at it. "Chart," said Levi, after a beat. He wasn't going to listen to anything regarding the kid's patient without reading a chart first. He wasn't impressed with Oluo's communication skills. He preferred people get right to the point. 

"I thought you could advise me," said Oluo, handing over the chart. "We could work on it together, and with your guidance..."

He trailed off. Levi didn't respond. He checked the chart first. As he read it over, he frowned. "Who gave you this?"

"Er, what?" Oluo grimaced.

"Who assigned you this patient?"

"Oh, no one, I thought I--"

"You're not here to think, you're here to do what I fucking say," Levi snapped. It wasn't true. He preferred his therapists, his subordinates, think for themselves, but he also preferred they didn't take cases they weren't prepared for. The little snot had bypassed him to take this patient. Not that the chart directly stated this, but as good as. Anyone with sense and a day's worth of training could tell that this was a difficult one. He would have given this particular patient to Eld, probably. Not this wet behind the ears little prick. If Oluo had been trying to impress him, it hadn't worked. "Get out," he said, keeping the chart firmly in hand. He had no intention of giving it back.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

He was shaken, but Levi didn't care. It was winter, he didn't have enough staff, and he'd had to contend with dishwater tea and a broken yolk. He didn't have the time or inclination to make sure no one's feelings were hurt. "Out," he said again, and Oluo scurried out.

He had some balls, at least. It wasn't a bad idea, wanting to challenge yourself. A bad idea was disregarding his authority. It wasn't a matter of pride on Levi's part. It was a matter of patients being correctly cared for, and he wasn't going to give a problem patient to someone who'd been a few weeks on the job.

He looked the chart over again. _Erwin Smith._ The patient had suffered the loss of his entire right arm, not to mention damage to his other limbs and torso. Though he'd begun treatment in Iowa, he'd requested a transfer from Iowa City to New York, for no reason that was specified on his chart. He'd had the good luck or connections to have his request fulfilled. He was Special Forces. They got away with far more than that. Levi sighed and decided he might as well take this patient himself. He was overworked, but so was everyone else. He was heaped with so much shit already, what was one more turd? The guy needed to be assessed.

Smith had a private room. The fact that he was Special Forces probably didn't hurt him in this regard, either. Levi was aware that he was biased against that type, but he had his reasons. It didn't interfere with his treatment of patients, so he saw no reason to alter his thinking. Although the note about Smith being relocated suggested that it had been a staff decision rather than his choice. That was odd. Beds were hard to come by, let alone private rooms.

The door was open a crack, so Levi didn't knock. Smith was lying in bed, because where else would he be? His eyes were closed, and he was resting on his back, his body completely still. He was unshaven, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Levi didn't have to say anything. Once he'd progressed a few steps into the room, announcing his presence through his footsteps and the soft tap of his cane on the floor, Smith's eyes suddenly opened, his gaze focusing immediately on Levi. Levi didn't need to wonder if he was coherent. That gaze was sharp. His eyes were bright, cuttingly blue. He stared at Levi. Levi stared back. Neither of them spoke.

Levi couldn't say why he was staring. It wasn't the obvious absence of Smith's arm that struck him. He'd seen missing limbs and far worse. He was used to witnessing the damage a war could do to the human body, and the severity of a patient's condition didn't affect him. "Physical therapy," he announced, once it sank in that he'd been standing there for too long in silence. He wasn't sure why his brain had temporarily stopped working, and it irritated him.

Smith said nothing. Levi had the sense that he was being evaluated, but Smith's expression gave away nothing, and Levi had no idea what Smith's estimation of him was. He was glad he hadn't given Oluo this patient. He would have made a cock up of it. Levi returned flat expression with flat expression. "I'm here to evaluate you."

"I thought you might have found a more isolated location to move me to."

So, he'd been causing trouble. "I don't care where they put you, as long as they tell me where you are," said Levi. Where the patients were placed wasn't his job, and it wasn't his concern.

"That's reassuring."

There was hostility in his voice, but Levi ignored it. He didn't take these things personally. People reacted to severe injuries differently. Some of them got pissed off. It was natural. He'd have been pissed off if his arm got taken off, too. "I'll treat you in a back alley if I have to."

"It might come to that."

"You starting shit with the staff already?"

"I had some differences of opinion with my fellow patients."

He said it so levelly, as if it was as simple as that. Levi knew it took a lot to get yourself moved. "Yeah?" Levi didn't care about these "differences", but he asked anyway. Zoë would have been proud to see him engaging in actual conversation with a patient.

"You might say we didn't see eye to eye politically."

"Great." So, some kind of opinionated loudmouth. He didn't seem like it at this particular moment. There was nothing aggressive about his manner, although he was direct. He was regarding Levi directly and calmly. "You don't have to worry, then," said Levi. "I don't do politics."

"You don't have any interest in decisions and events that affect every aspect of your life?"

All right, so that was more aggressive, though Smith remained calm. Levi probably hadn't raised himself in Smith's estimation, but it wasn't going to keep him up at night. "Not really." If Smith was trying to get him into an argument, he was going to be disappointed. Levi was annoyed, but he wasn't going to rise to the bait, though he was continuing to talk instead of beginning his evaluation. That wasn't like him.

"And why is that?"

"Because the higher ups shit on the lower downs, and that's the way it's always been, and that's the way it's always gonna be," said Levi crisply. "What can I do about it?"

Smith took his time considering this. "Would you say that statement accurately reflects your worldview?"

Who talked that way? This guy was weird. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

Smith was silent for a moment. "I don't agree with you, but I can accept that."

"What a fucking relief," said Levi. "No wonder you got moved. Now that I'm done with the interview, can I do my job?"

"I don't recall standing in your way."

No, he hadn't, but his conversation and his attitude weren't helping. Levi didn't pursue the topic. He got to work instead. He had read the chart, but he preferred to do his own evaluation. He wasn't going to lazily believe whatever he saw written on the chart. He stepped forward, very aware of Smith's clear gaze focused on him. Smith was well enough to have been transported from Iowa City, but Levi was well aware of his limitations. "Let's see what you can do." He set his cane aside and slowly, carefully led Smith through a few basic exercises. His right arm was strong, undamaged, but his torso and legs had been less fortunate. He wasn't able to walk on his own now, but Levi agreed with his physician that he'd be walking again in a relatively short time, with the proper treatment. He was strong.

Levi stepped back and wrote some notes of his own on the chart, before taking up his cane again.

"What's your name?" Smith asked.

"Levi."

He didn't say it was an unusual name or make a remark about its origins. He also hadn't appeared to notice Levi's height, or the cane, not even in that polite, obvious way of not noticing that Levi was so familiar with. He'd done nothing to suggest that he thought a physical therapist with a limp was notable or somehow suspect.

"You were in the service."

"That's right." Apparently, the interview wasn't over yet, but Levi endured it. He made no secret of his military service. Some of the men were more willing to work with someone they thought understood them. If it helped, he would do it.

"Where did you serve?"

"Korea, in '50."

There was no surprise, no comment about how he didn't look that old. Smith nodded. He'd been a kid back then, and he'd grown up to get his arm blown up in yet another dumb war, proving Levi's point about politics, as far as Levi was concerned.

"And what do you think about the war in Vietnam?" Smith asked.

"I told you, I don't have an opinion on politics."

"How many of your friends died in the war?"

Levi stiffened. This was exactly why he didn't want to talk about politics. This wasn't the first time he'd had a problem patient, and it wouldn't be the last, but usually he didn't let them get under his skin. He didn't react to them, because a reaction was what they wanted. The best course of action would have been to refrain from answering. To leave, now that his initial examination was done and he had what he needed. That wasn't what Levi did. "All of them," he snapped. "They all died."

As before, Smith didn't seem surprised. He didn't seem anything, accepting this answer with the same even equanimity he likely would have displayed no matter what Levi had said. "Then maybe you should start to form an opinion," he said.

Levi decided to stop responding, but it was too late, and he'd said too much. He couldn't take it back, couldn't remove those words from Smith's memory. He'd let himself be goaded like a stupid kid. He loathed revealing personal details, no matter how vague, especially to a patient. Fuck. Instead of continuing to engage, he shut his mouth. He turned and left. He didn't feel the need to obtain the last word--this was treatment, not a pissing contest. He wasn't paid to deal with anyone's attitude. He was a physical therapist, not a psychotherapist. 

He had the momentary impulse to pass the case to Gunther or Eld, since he'd been compromised, had shown weakness--but no. Weakness didn't mean he'd failed. He'd started this, so he'd finish it. He was the one in control here. He wasn't going to be intimidated. He was, however, going to leave a note that the patient should, under no circumstances, be moved back to a multi-occupant room.


End file.
